


Safe For Now

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: Three years after almost dying from a werewolf attack, Peter Hale comes to you, tortured and bloodied, seeking a safe haven. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. Chapter 1

Beacon Hills, California. One of the smaller towns in [ **northern California**](http://hales-emissary.tumblr.com/post/91061251663/but-where-is-beacon-hills-teen-wolf-meta). Home to werewolves, banshees, kanimas, and a slew of other supernatural creatures. Some called it hell. You called it home.

* * *

The thunderous howl of an alpha would have sent anyone running, seeking shelter from the murderous monster, doing anything and everything to protect themselves and their loved ones. But not you. You ran toward it at full speed, pistol in hand, silver bullet in the chamber; cocked, locked, and ready to go. You focused on your breathing, keeping it steady, even as you ran to your possible-but-highly-unlikely demise.

A shadow to your left caught your attention for the briefest of moments. It was Chris Argent, your hunting partner, and he was signaling for you to go around to the right while he went left. Without a second thought, you shifted your weight, following his command.

Attacking the werewolf from two different sides was a smart decision. It couldn’t possibly fight off the pair of you. Not when you two were the most experienced and talented hunters. You had started to feel invincible as of late. That should have been your first clue.

Seemingly out of nowhere, gunfire erupted to your left. Swearing loudly, you tore off in that direction, praying that Chris was alright.

It wasn’t like you had a thing for your mentor. Working closely with him for a handful of years, there was bound to be some sort of tension, right? If there was nothing there, why were the icy tendrils of fear racing up your spine?

Sliding to a stop, you watched in slow motion as the werewolf swung his arm back and batted Chris to the side as he were a rag doll. He landed a dozen yards off, at the base of a girthy stump.

Everything in you screamed to run to Chris, make sure he was still alive, but the werewolf was already headed your way, red eyes ablaze, and a growl in his throat that rocked you to your core. You hesitated, pulling the trigger too late. His hand flew through the air, slicing open your belly with razor-like claws.

Your gun fell to the ground with a dull  _thump_  and blood fell in sheets, which you tried to stop with your hands, but it seeped through your fingers. You fell to your knees with a grunt, typical forest debris bit through your jeans and stabbed deep into your skin.

With your lips moving in a silent prayer, you didn’t see him raise his hand.

* * *

You woke with a scream trapped in your throat, and your heart racing in your chest and ears. Every inch of you was covered in sweat and you were shaking from head to toe.

“Holy shit,” you ground out between gasps. Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you hunched over and ran your hands through your hair. You focused on your breathing, trying to get everything under control, because until you did, you weren’t going to be able to stand.

Your legs were still shaking when you stood, making the journey into the bathroom only slightly treacherous. Your pale and startled reflection made your throat tighten, and before you knew what you were doing, you pulled up the sweat-dampened shirt, revealing rows of ragged, angry scars that took up the entirety of your stomach. They weren’t as red as they used to be, but they still made you wince when you touched them.

Knowing you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, you took a shower, got dressed, and started a brewing a pot of coffee. Sitting in your favorite chair, coffee cup on the table, you opened the book you’ve been meaning to finish for the past year, and tried to lose yourself, get your mind off the thick smell of copper and shredded flesh.

Your solace didn’t last long.

There were three sharp knocks coming from the back of the house. Without a second thought, you pulled out the pistol you kept tucked away in the book shelf as you crossed the room. You were creeping down the hall when they knocked again. Harder than before, just enough to shake the door in its frame.

With your back to the wall opposite the door, you waited. For what, you weren’t sure. But when they knocked again, sending minuscule splinters of wood through the air, you’d had enough. You pulled the hammer back on the gun and opened the door at the same time, leveling your sight for center mass.

“Y/N,” the new arrival grunted painfully. “Thank god you’re home.”

Not ready to lower your gun anytime soon, you kept it raised. “Peter fuckin’ Hale,” you sneered. “The fuck you doin’ here?” He raised a bloodied hand, and that was when you saw the damage he wouldn’t have survived if he weren’t a werewolf.

“Please let me in,” he choked, blood pouring from his mouth.

“Shit,” you muttered, slamming the safety on before holstering your pistol. You held the door open for the injured werewolf, taking a look outside before slamming the door and throwing the deadbolt.

“Better have a fuckin’ good reason for comin’ here,” you shouted, following the trail of blood down the hall and into the kitchen. “Jesus… Peter, you’re gettin’ blood everywh-” you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw him.

Peter stood at the sink, back to you, shirt falling to the floor in ribbons. He was bigger than the last time you had seen him, but that’s not what made you stop short. It was the charring and bubbling of his skin, filling the small room with the smell of burning flesh. Stifling a gag, you moved quickly to open a handful of windows, extremely thankful when a breeze blew through. A low, pain-laced growl pulled your attention back to Peter. Marching across the room, you stood in front of him and worked really hard to not look at his mutilated flesh.

“You need to answer me,” you demanded, glaring at him coldly.

His top lip pulled back as he snarled in pain. “What I  _need_  to do, Y/N, is get this wolfsbane out of me.”

Grinding your teeth, you spun around, and pulled out the first aid kit. “Everything you need is right there,” you snapped, tossing it onto the counter.

Peter shot you an irritated smirk. “You’re going to help,” he insisted rather calmly.

“Nope. No fuckin’ way,” you argued as you backed away, your ass slamming into the counter.

“Wasn’t a request, Y/N/N,” Peter rebutted breathlessly before his eyes rolled back and he dropped like a sack of potatoes to the floor.

“Shiiiiiiit,” you barely managed not to scream before grabbing the kit and dropping to your knees.

Saving a werewolf’s life was the last thing you had on your agenda today. Peter caught you on a good day. Lucky bastard.

* * *

You were on your fifth cup of coffee when Peter started stirring.

“You’re kidding,” he gruffed, rolling over to his knees. “You left me on the floor.”

With a one-shouldered shrug, you nodded. “You’re heavy.”

Peter pulled himself off the floor and glared at you. “I’m injured.”

“You’re a werewolf,” you snapped. “Heal, and get the hell out of my house.”

One of his brows arched. “Not going to be that easy,” Peter murmured painfully.

“And why not?” you yelled at him, all but launching yourself out of the chair. “You came to me, dying, bleeding all over my goddamn house, and you  _still_  haven’t told me why!”

Peter considered you carefully, eyes raking over your face, his head tilting the way he always did when he was listening to a human’s heart. “I pissed off the wrong people,” he said simply.

Your eyes rolled back so hard you were sure they were going to pop out and bounce on the floor. “Of course you did, you’re Peter Hale. It’s all you fuckin’ know how to do.”

“Easy, kid,” he teased.

Glaring at him, you stabbed your finger toward him. “Don’t call me that,” you demanded through clenched teeth.

“Can’t believe you’re still sensitive about it.”

“Just because you’re old enough to be my-”

“Ruggedly handsome sugar daddy,” Peter interrupted.

You rolled your eyes for what felt like the tenth time. “I’m the same age as Derek. I ain’t no damn kid,” you snapped.

Peter walked… no, it was more like he strutted toward you. “And how is my nephew these days?”

 _Shit._  You should have known better than to bring up Derek. “Wouldn’t know,” you answered, forcing yourself to hold Peter’s gaze.

“Oh, yes, that’s right,” he murmured, stopping just inside the edge of your personal space. “You two little lovebirds broke up.”

Squaring your shoulders, you ground out, “Bathroom is down the hall. I’ll see if I have something you can change into.”

Though Peter was still in an incredible amount of pain, he shot you a small wink. “I’d appreciate it.”

You stormed past, slamming your shoulder into his, working hard to ignore the blossom of pain in your shoulder, because no matter how hurt he might be, Peter was still a fucking werewolf and built like a goddamn brick house.  You disappeared into your room, slamming the door behind you, and stood in front of your closet. Going through Derek’s clothes was the second to last thing you wanted to do.

The large box was easily located, shoved into the very back, almost completely covered with blankets and sheets. Without even opening it, the faded scent of his cologne drifted out, forcing you to remember things you had tried so hard to bury and lock away.

_Derek was shaking his head. “Why are you doing this? Do you think **I**  did this?” he asked thickly, pointing to the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around you._

_“No,” you answered tremulously. “I just… I can’t explain it, Derek. I need-”_

_“Time? I can give you time, baby. All the time you need,” he pleaded gently._

_Your chin was quivering and tears were blurring your vision. “I need to be alone.” You weren’t sure if you were trying to convince Derek, or yourself._

_“I’m not leaving,” Derek swore, grabbing your hand from the hospital bed and giving it a firm squeeze. “And I’m going to find the son of a bitch that did this, and rip his throat out with my teeth.” Despite the tight grip, you managed to tug your hand free._

_“You need to leave, Derek,” you managed to order without choking on the words. “Now.”_

Three years later and it still hurt like hell.

Sniffling, you pulled out the clothes from the box, and knocked on the bathroom door once before entering. “Clothes are on the toilet.”

Peter stuck his head out the side of the curtain, not even trying to hide his body. “Thanks, Y/N/N,” he said, giving you a wolfish grin.

* * *

Peter was sitting on Y/N’s couch, legs stretched out, book in his hands. She was mumbling to herself under her breath while she shoved on her shoes.

“Can’t believe you talked me into this, going to your place. I must be some special kind of stupid. They’re probably already there, whoever the fuck tortured you. They’re going to follow me. Either that or kidnap and torture me.”

“You know I can hear you,” Peter chuckled.

“Ask me if I give a shit,” she snapped, storming out of the house a moment later.

When she pulled out of the driveway, tires spinning, dirt and pebbles flying through the air, Peter hunched over and groaned loudly in pain. The book slid from his lap, and a minute later, he was on the floor himself, hands and knees on the hardwood, shoulders bowed, dry heaving as his body tried fighting the wolfsbane.

Peter hated feeling like this; vulnerable, scared, human. Or at least, that was how he thought humans felt like. He had never been human, so it wasn’t like he had first-hand experience. But wolfsbane had a way of instilling a new appreciation for life in a werewolf. God, how he hated that fucking plant.

After the symptoms subsided, Peter pushed off the floor, and used the couch to stand on slightly shaking legs. Rather than sit back down, Peter opted for a stroll around the house he’d be living in for the foreseeable future.

Y/N had changed a lot since Peter had seen her last. Before the attack she was so alive and vibrant. If Peter had been a complete douche, he would have pursued her. Besides the age difference, the only thing stopping him was the fact that she only had eyes for Derek. Still did, seeing as how she still had a change of his clothes. Curiosity got the better of him; Peter wanted to see what else she had kept.

* * *

You rushed through Peter’s apartment, grabbing clothes and toiletries that he would need while staying at your place. Peter hiding out with you wasn’t your first choice by any means, but it did seem like it was the safest. You hated to admit that he had been right; your house would be the last place anyone would check; Chris included. Satisfied you grabbed everything he insisted upon, you turned to leave. You had just grabbed the doorknob when your cell vibrated.

 _Damn._  It was Chris.

Squaring your shoulders, you accepted the call with a swipe of your thumb. “Long time, no speak.”

“And I wish I was calling you because of good news,” Chris gruffed, anger coating his words.

 _Time to play stupid,_  you told yourself.

“What’s happened?”

He sighed heavily, and you could picture the way his shoulders would droop, almost as if he was carrying a heavy burden. “It’s Peter,” was his answer.

“What has he done now?” you muttered, shuffling your feet nervously.

“Seems he went and pissed off the wrong people.”

You scoffed through your nose. “Since when doesn’t he piss off anyone, let alone the wrong people?”

Chris chuckled low in his throat at that. “You ain’t lyin’.”

You almost hated to admit how good it felt to talk to Chris again. “What’s really going on? You sound…”

“Old?” he suggested softly.

A chuckle bubbled in your throat as you answered, “I was going to say serious, but old works.” Chris was silent for a beat, then cleared his throat to break the silence.

“I uh…  _we_  could use your help, Y/N,” he muttered roughly. You knew that was why he called, but to actually hear him say it was both calming and scary at the same time. In order to help Peter, like you swore you would, you needed to ‘help find Peter’.

Blowing out a heavy breath you hoped came across as reluctant, you agreed by saying, “I’m actually close to his place right now. I can stop there, see if there’s anything there.”

“That’d be great,” Chris admitted. “Saves me a trip across town.”

“You want me to call you back, or…?”

“No,” Chris answered, completely forgetting for a moment that you and Derek hadn’t talked since the break-up. “The plan is to meet up later tonight.”

Not that he could see you, but you narrowed your eyes. “And where does the plan say to meet?”

Chris’ silence was answer enough. “Derek’s loft,” you rasped, dropping the bag of Peter’s belongings to the floor. “Of course it is.”

“Ah, shit, Y/N,” Chris groaned. “You don’t have to go.”

“It’s alright, Argent,” you lied hoarsely. “I’ll be there.”

* * *

You weren’t sure how long you stood outside the loft, closed fist hovering over the door, just shy of rapping your knuckles against the metal. There was a squeal of metal as someone from the inside opened the door; it was Derek. His jaw was clenched and he looked down at you with hard eyes.

“Y/N,” he murmured, and fuck, it made your stomach flop. “Come on in.” Forcing a small smile, you walked past him, flinching when he whirled around, his nostrils flaring as he breathed in the air around you.

“What?” you demanded, stepping back from your ex-boyfriend.

Deep chocolate eyes darted around your face. “Peter, he’s all over you. Why?”

You scoffed through your nose. “I just came from his place,” you answered, rolling your eyes.

Chris entered the loft right then. “She’s not lying, Derek.”

Derek studied everything about you, from the way you tucked some hair behind your ear, to the way your heart continued to beat steadily. He must have liked what he saw or heard, because he turned away without another word.

Chris smiled warmly. “Good to see you,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck


	2. Chapter 2

“You, too,” you breathed as Chris pulled you into him and hugged you. “At least someone is happy to see me.”

Chris looked over at Derek, draped an arm over your shoulders, and walked you deeper into the room. “It’s just a bit of a shock,” he tried assuring you.

“He’s not the only one that’s shocked,” you mumbled to yourself. This day was not going the way you imagined it would go when you woke up… yesterday… this morning? You honestly had no clue what day it was. You wanted to crawl into bed and never come out, and you couldn’t even do that. Not while Peter was at your house.

“So what do we know?” you asked as soon as you and Chris joined the small gathering.

Since it was Derek’s home, and it was immediately apparent that he was in charge, the small group waited for Derek to answer. Everyone could tell that he didn’t like the fact that you were here, his body language said it all; arms crossed, shoulders squared, jaw clenched.

“Jesus, Derek,” you groaned, rolling your eyes. “Say the fuckin’ word and I’m gone.”

Dark eyes landed on yours, and he said only one word. “Go.”

Standing tall, you gave a curt nod and spun on your heel. You didn’t even take one step when there was an iron grip on your arm; Chris was looking at you with soft crystal eyes, and he was shaking his head.

“We need her, Derek,” Chris argued lowly. “You’re going to regret it later if you can’t get your head out of your ass long enough to see that without her, we won’t survive.” You didn’t… wouldn’t turn around, not until you had Derek’s ‘permission’ to stay.

Derek cleared his throat, and told Chris, “Keep an eye on her. Can’t have another one of you going rogue.”

“What the hell does  **that**  mean?” You whispered harshly to Chris, looking at him with eyes full confusion.

Chris’ jaw was twitching painfully before he answered. “Kate.”

* * *

Standing in Y/N’s bedroom, Peter closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath; vanilla and honey were the first things he smelled, quickly followed by fear and confusion. Layered between those emotions was anxiety so thick that Peter choked on it.

“Weird,” he murmured. “Never smelled like that before.”

On the bed was what Peter had been searching for; the remnants of Y/N’s relationship with his nephew. The box was smaller than he thought it would have been, only housing a handful of ripped up movie ticket stubs, several dried flowers, and a couple of books. He was about to put everything back when something caught his eye.

There, peeking out from the middle of a book, was a picture. Tugging on the edge, Peter realized it was a set of pictures, the kind that come from one of those photo booths the local fairgrounds have. Derek and Y/N made a different face for each picture, his cerulean wolf eyes shining brilliantly compared to hers. It was the last picture that let Peter in on a well-kept secret. The two were kissing happily, Y/N’s hands on Derek’s face, diamond ring sparkling on her ring finger.

Peter was surprised at the heat that flooded his chest. It wasn’t happiness he felt, it was unbridled jealousy.

* * *

After the small group disbanded, you watched as Scott and Stiles walked out, no doubt whispering about you. The last time you had seen them, Scott had just been bitten, by Peter, as had just been informed. You wanted to punch Peter square in his fucking face for that one, but you did everything you could to keep your emotions in check.

Derek walked over, his eyes much softer than they had been an hour before. “I’m sorry,” he lamented, catching you by surprise. “About before.”

“You don’t owe me an apology,” you assured him, suddenly feeling more at ease. “I should be apologizing to you.”

Green eyes narrowed as his brows knitted together. “For just showin’ up?”

“For the last three years,” you acknowledged, eyes falling to the floor, your feet shifting uncomfortably.

“Hey,” Derek sighed, hooking a finger under your chin. “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same thing. Water under the bridge?”

You smiled wide, a grateful sigh escaping. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you admitted.

It wasn’t that you would ever stop loving Derek, he was the first person you’d fallen in love with; there would always be a special place in your heart for him. But you had changed a lot over the last three years, as had he, judging by the amount of feminine touches his loft had acquired.

“What’s her name?” you couldn’t help but ask.

Derek’s eyes flashed, whether from embarrassment or because he felt as if he had hurt your feelings. “Her name’s Braden,” he said with a smile.

“As long as she makes you happy,” you remarked, grabbing his hand and squeezing it gently.

Derek winced, letting out a low hiss at your touch. You realized what was happening, but it was too late to stop it. The veins in Derek’s hand and arm were thick and black; he was taking away your pain without even trying to. You tried tugging your hand away, but he only gripped your hand harder.

“Let me go, Derek,” you ground out.

Derek shook his head. “How can you still be in so much pain?” he asked curiously. “It’s been three years.”

With a loud grunt, you managed to rip your hand from his. “I don’t know,” you panted heavily, rubbing at the fading handprint on your skin.

Chris was by your side, taking in the scene before him. “What’s going on?”

Derek couldn’t explain it, so he showed Chris by grabbing his hand and giving the hunter a taste of the pain roaring through you. Chris fell to his knees with a loud groan, and his eyes started to roll back.

“Derek, stop it,” you shouted, not wanting to touch him again.

Chris wasn’t breathing when Derek released him, the werewolf’s own breath catching painfully in his throat. You barely caught Chris before he fell to the floor, shaking his shoulders until finally, his eyes fluttered open and he pulled in a shuddering breath.

“Holy shit,” you rasped, falling back to your ass.

Chris raked a hand over his face. “The hell did you do that for?” he yelled, rocking on his knees as his equilibrium searched for center stage.

“I didn’t know how else to… to show you,” Derek explained quickly. “Sorry, man,” he apologized gently, working his thumb over the back of his hand and wrist.

After standing, you helped Chris do the same, holding his elbows until he stopped wavering.

Chris waved off Derek’s apology, and leveled you with a concerned gaze. “What’s going on?”

You gave a one shoulder shrug. “Figured it was because I was almost gutted by an Alpha,” you answered honestly. “Just something I learned to live with.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Derek chimed in.

“Me either,” Chris agreed. Both men looked at you as if you were now something they needed to focus their energy on, as if you had been broken, and needed to be fixed.

You held out both hands and started stepping back toward the door. “One thing at a time, boys. Let’s focus on finding Peter first.”

* * *

Two things happened at once when you slammed the door, and threw the lock. You launched the duffel full of Peter’s belongings across the room, then the two of you spoke at the same time.

“You fuckin’ bit a  **kid**?!”

“You and Derek were engaged?”

There was a long moment of silence before it happened again.

“What?”

You rolled your eyes. “My house, I talk first,” you snapped, tugging off your jacket almost violently. “You bit Scott McCall.”

With his features completely unreadable, he informed you that it was, “Old news.”

“The fuck is wrong with you?” you bellowed, storming into the kitchen, taking a long pull of whiskey once you fished it out of the cupboard.

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Peter answered seriously. “My turn. You and Derek were engaged?” he asked, holding out the pictures as proof.

You glared at him, stalked over, and ripped the pictures from his hand. “That’s old news,” you answered coolly.

Peter’s eyes narrowed and he tipped his head to the side, drawing in a purposeful breath. “You saw him, didn’t you?”

“Why are you asking something you already know the answer to?” you snapped. “Bet you can smell him.” Something played with his features, something you couldn’t put your finger on.

“I can smell the whole goddamn pack,” he snarled, exposing his teeth to you.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sighed heavily. “Yes, I saw him, and yes, the whole pack was there; Chris included.”

“The great and mighty Chris Argent,” Peter said pompously. “How is the old man?”

Not caring that it made you look like a five year old, you stomped your foot. “Enough,” you growled, hands balled into fists at your side, nostrils flaring. “Please, Peter. Just… stop.”

Peter being a pain in the ass was common knowledge. As long as he came out on top, he didn’t care who he pissed off or who he hurt. But there was a shift in his demeanor the moment you said please. There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, because in the blink of an eye, his shoulders were squared, and he nodded curtly.

“Truce,” he said gently. Peter bent down to grab his duffel, and disappeared down the hall in search of the guest bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

You should have gone to bed when Peter called a truce after your little temper tantrum, but you didn’t. Rather, you sat on the couch and worked hard at finishing the bottle of whiskey.

Was what Derek said true, were you still in pain from the alpha three years ago? You thought you’d overcome the oppressive, suffocating, debilitating physical pain of it, learning to live with the gruesome scars left behind. Maybe you didn’t feel it anymore because of your coping mechanism; Johnny Blue and Jack.

You scoffed before taking another long pull. It wasn’t like drinking was the worst thing in the world. You weren’t out there trying to score some illicit drug. Although, it wasn’t difficult to see the appeal. The mind-numbing bliss as it raced through you, turning everything beautiful up to level 15 while shutting off everything you wanted to but couldn’t forget. Maybe it was time to take a step back from the bottle and onto something new.

“You’re still up,” Peter noted as he emerged from the shadows.

“Ten points to Gryffindor,” was your sarcastic comeback. “What are you doin’ up?”

Peter shuffled into the living room and rested his elbows on the back of a chair. “Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, dark eyes flicking over your face. “You?”

Rolling your eyes, you shook the almost empty bottle, the amber liquid sloshing around almost noiselessly. “Gettin’ drunk,” you snapped. “Apparently, it’s why I don’t feel… anything.” Your free hand fell to your stomach, to the ragged scars you’d never be rid of. Self-confidence, what the fuck was that?

With his head tipped to the side, Peter narrowed his eyes. “Explain,” he commanded gently.

You shoved off the couch and somehow made your way across the room. Sighing heavily, you slapped your hand on Peter’s bare arm. It was instant, the veins in his arm darkened and pulsed as he absorbed your pain.

Peter’s eyes flashed cerulean and he snarled, exposing sharp fangs that probably would have made you jump back if you weren’t drunk. He recoiled from you, shaking his arm at his side.

“Bad touch,” he snarked. His eyes dimmed slowly as he did that annoying head tilt again. “You can’t feel…  _that_?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping your lips loudly. Brushing past him, you tipped the bottle back and easily drank the rest. You thought you set it on the counter, but the shattering of glass on the floor alerted you to your mistake.

Spinning around unsteadily, you glared at Peter. “What’s the point of having superhuman reflexes if you don’t use them?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter snapped, his hand at his side, still trembling. “I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with you.”

You rolled your eyes and groaned loudly. “What is it with you men?”

Confusion darkened Peter’s gaze. “Which men?”

“Derek, for starters,” you snorted, leaning back against the counter. “Tryin’ to figure out why I’m still fuckin’ broken.”

And that’s what hurt like a fuckin’ punch to the gut. You used to be this strong and fearless hunter, chasing after and killing the things that went bump in the night. And now…  _fuck_. Now, you couldn’t hold a gun without your hands shaking. You were fine thinking negatively about yourself like that, but to have other people take notice of it, people like Derek and Chris, people whose opinions you valued…

“He thinks that?” Peter asked dubiously, pulling you from your thoughts.

Trying to keep from choking on the emotion in your throat, you licked your lips. “Derek felt it, the pain,” you admitted. “Then he showed Chris. The way they…  _you_ looked at me…” you couldn’t finish.Who were you kidding? Peter never cared about anyone but himself. He would never look at someone like they… meant something. 

Swiping angrily at the tears that decided to fall, you snorted. “Well, not you. You looked like you’d rather chew my head off. Literally.”

“Y/N, I-” he started, but you didn’t give him the chance to finish.

“Leave the mess. I’ll get it in the morning.” Without another word, you walked around the shards of glass, and into your room.

* * *

After she slammed her bedroom door, Peter exhaled loudly through his nose, his jaw ground painfully, and if he looked down at his hands, he’d find his claws extended. He wanted to make Y/N understand, it wasn’t a matter of wanting to fix her; she wasn’t broken, not like the glass that lay at his feet. He was worried, he wanted to make sure she was alright, that she’d never have to suffer another day. Not like that night three years ago.

_The thunderous howl of another alpha in Beacon Hills made the hair on the back of Peter’s neck stand. He knew Chris and Y/N were hunting it. Peter also knew firsthand how malicious this alpha was. He wasn’t like the others, he was cold and calculating, even more so than Peter.  With a growl, Peter tore off through the woods, following the acrid, authoritative smell of the alpha._

_When the wind shifted, Peter snarled as he skidded to a stop, sending dirt flying through the air. He couldn’t lose him, the alpha had to die. Peter growled as he spun in a circle, sniffing at the air, trying to find the scent again when gunfire erupted straight ahead. Just as Peter was about to tear off, the scent of freshly-spilled blood was so thick, Peter gagged on it, working to keep the bile in his stomach. He pulled in a shallow, ragged breath, this one was all Y/N; vanilla and honey buried beneath a blanket of fear so thick that Peter felt like he was the one in fear for his own life._

_Peter howled as he tore off, determined to save Y/N. He could say it was because she was in love with Derek, that Peter didn’t want his nephew to lose the one good thing in his life, but he would be lying. Peter wanted to save Y/N because he was in love with her. Never before had anyone gotten so deep under Peter’s skin that he was willing to change his ways, but… Y/N… **shit** , Peter wanted to be a better man for her._

_The scene that opened up before Peter made his heart stutter painfully. Y/N was crumpled on the ground, and the alpha was towering over her, blood dripping from his claws, evil radiating off of him. Peter growled menacingly, his claws pushing through his fingertips as he strutted over. Peter was prepared to fight to the death, but that wasn’t what the alpha had in mind. Not yet, at least. With a cocky, fangy grin, the alpha turned and tore off, his howl ringing in Peter’s ears._

_Y/N’s complexion was grey and blood was pouring from three deep wounds to her stomach. He dropped to his knees, and reached out with shaking hands._

_“No,” Peter sobbed, brushing the hair from her face before frantically feeling for a pulse. The vein in her neck twitched faintly under his fingers. Without a second thought, he pulled her from the ground, and ran as fast as he could into town._

* * *

You stumbled out of the bathroom, feeling slightly less than death now that you had showered and brushed your teeth. Peter turned and greeted you with a fresh cup of coffee, which you accepted with an exclamation that took even you by surprise.

“My god, I love you right now,” you professed, breathing in the intoxicating aroma with a heavenly sigh.

Peter cleared his throat before getting down to business. “How did the meeting go yesterday?”

Scrunching your nose and shaking your head, you sat down on the couch, tucked your legs under you, and ran a hand through your damp hair. “Well, they’d really like to know who… or what is hell-bent on killing you.”

“I don’t know,” he murmured before paying close attention to his coffee.

“Goddamn it, Peter,” you groaned, your head falling back. “You’re a shitty liar.”

He had the nerve to look offended. “Says who?”

Leveling him with a dark gaze, you snapped, “You might have others fooled with your cool-as-a-cucumber attitude, but not me! Someone, or some _thing_ , is trying to kill you, and you’re going to tell me who, or you can find someplace else to fuckin’ hide!”

The two of you stared at each other for several long moments before the ringing of your cell phone broke the silence. You were perfectly fine letting it go to voicemail, and thought it had when it went silent. But then it started ringing again, and Peter shot you a cocky smirk.

“Sounds important,” he implied, raising his cup in mock salute. “Might want to get that.”

Glaring at Peter, you ripped the phone from your pocket. “What do you want?” you barked.

It was Chris. “Might have a lead on what’s after Peter.” The mask of smugness Peter was wearing faltered slightly.

“Where’s that?” you murmured, hoping Chris couldn’t hear your voice shake.

“Tell you in a minute,” was Chris’ answer. “I’m pulling up right now.” The line went dead as Chris hung up. Peter’s nostrils flared and you could tell just by looking at him that he had turned on his super hearing.

“He’s almost here,” Peter whispered, eyes flashing beta blue. Grinding your jaw, you signaled for Peter to hide, taking the coffee from his hands. Just in time, too, because the slamming of a truck door signaled Chris’ arrival

“Just brewed a pot of coffee,” you lied, quickly adding more to the cup when Chris waltzed right in like he owned the place.

“Just what I needed,” he admitted, smiling warmly at you.

You watched him carefully, analyzing every twitch, every flick of his eyes, making sure he didn’t notice… anything that might be out of place. He took a long drink, so you waited until he smacked his lips in approval before asking, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Can’t I drop by and see you?”

Narrowing your eyes, you playfully  _tsk’d_  him. “Not buyin’ it, Chris.”

“Alright,” he conceded, sighing heavily. “Reached out to some of my contacts last night, asking if they had seen Peter.”

You already knew the answer, but you needed to act like you didn’t. “Have they?”

Chris shook his head. “No, but that’s not what has me worried.”

 _Well, shit._  That couldn’t be good. “What is it?” You were in no way prepared for the words Chris uttered.

“The alpha.”


	4. Chapter 4

Chris’ words slammed into you like a ton of bricks. The cup of coffee fell from your hands, shattering at your feet, sending scalding coffee soaking through your socks. The pain you  _hadn’t_  been feeling for the last three years slammed into you, driving the air from your lungs with a strangled scream as the memory of that night washed over your. It was as if you could feel your flesh being sliced open, the warmth of your blood as it cascaded down to the ground, the slick of it on your hands, between your fingers. You didn’t… couldn’t hear Chris as he said… something, not when your ears were filled with the deafening roar of blood as it had sounded that night.

And then Chris slapped you, jarring your brain into remembering that was three years ago, and you were alive, not lying in an ever-growing pool of your own blood.

“Breathe,” he yelled, hands on your shoulders, face inches from your own. Fuck, it hurt, pulling in air that your body didn’t know you needed.

“Again,” Chris ordered, crystal eyes clouded with worry, drilling into yours until you did what he said. Over and over, until finally, your breathing was as it had been mere minutes ago.

You swallowed the emotion in your throat. “The fuck was that?”

“My guess?” Chris started, grabbing a towel from the counter. “A panic attack. Have you been having any dreams about that night?” He dropped to the floor and started cleaning up the mess you made. Which reminded you, where did the glass go from last night?

You were thankful that Chris was focused on something else. “Not one,” you lied as you stepped back and tugged off your socks.

Chris set the towel in the sink and rinsed the coffee from his hands. “You’re lying, but I’m not going to push it. What I am going to push is that someone stays with y-”

“Not fuckin’ happening,” you interrupted with a scowl.

“This isn’t up for debate,” Chris demanded, eyebrow arched, an authoritative sparkle in his eyes that made your stomach flop.

Three years. It had been three years since you’d had sex. Even back when you were training under Chris, there had been a flirtatious tone to your relationship, but he was married, and then you were with Derek. But now Chris was a widow, and while there were times thinking about Derek made your heart stutter, the almost school-girl like feelings toward Chris came rushing back. Especially now that he was older and his hair had more grey and his shoulders were broader and there were these veins in his hands and neck that made your knees go weak.

Before you knew what you were doing, you grabbed the lapels of Chris’ leather jacket and kissed him. Chris froze for about 2.5 seconds, but then he tipped his head, burning your chin with his beard, pushing his tongue between your lips, and wrapping his arms around you, lifting you off the floor. You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning obscenely into his mouth at the pressure of him between your thighs.

Chris took three steps to the counter and set you down so his hands were free to roam over your hips and ass, pulling you into him as his hips rolled, growling low in his throat when you scraped your nails over his cotton-shirt clad chest. Your head was pushed against the cupboard as your back arched, nipples straining through the thin material of your bra, aching to have attention lavished on them.

The man between your thighs pulled back to discard his jacket and shirt, bottom lip trapped between his teeth at the sight of you, flushed skin, lust-blown pupils, nipples hard, breasts heaving. If possible, his eyes flashed darker, your panties growing wetter by the second.

Fuck, he was stunning. His charcoal hair-covered chest and stomach was littered with scars, old and new. Some were small and precise, others were larger and more ragged.Then there was the tattoo that he wore on his right shoulder and upper arm. 

Your hands were shaking as you reached out to undo his belt and jeans, sliding your fingers into the top of his boxer briefs, and dragging them down, your nails scraping through the soft hairs of his thighs. Chris’ head fell back as he moaned your name, hands gripping your thighs hard enough that you knew you’d be bruised for days to come.

With a determined look, Chris hooked his fingers into the top of your yoga pants, and pulled them, along with your panties, down your legs, throwing them over his shoulder unceremoniously. The sight of your dripping pussy pulled a strangled sound from deep in his chest, a sound that rolled over you, made your eyes roll back, and your walls clench in anticipation.

Chris purred your name, pushing his thumb between your damp folds, finding your arousal-weeping hole. You returned the favor by sweeping your thumb over his weeping cock-head, the thick beads of pre-cum dripping from your thumb. You weren’t sure how you managed to keep eye contact while each of you fucked the other with your hands and fingers, but you did.

The orgasm was sudden, sharp, stealing the breath from your lungs as your back arched. Chris mouth was on your neck, biting and sucking dark marks on your skin, tongue soothing them with a lazy stroke.

“I need to fuck you, Y/N,” he ground out. “Need to feel that tight pussy wrapped around my cock.”

You scooted your ass to the edge, your thighs falling open, and coated his cock with your slick. One hand wrapped around his cock, the other on his ass, you took him in, one glorious inch at a time. Chris’ eyes were downcast, completely enthralled with the way his cock disappeared into your damp heat. Your walls pulsed as he moved deeper and deeper, the blunt end of his cock already finding your sweet spot. You could have cum then and there, the heavy pulse of the large vein on his cock as the short hairs at the root tickled your thighs.

Chris gripped your hips and rocked his, slow at first, pulling further away with each thrust, an obscene moan of your name falling from his lips. With your hands on the counter, you drove your body up, faster and harder, the wet, sucking sounds of sex, and the grunts of gratification echoing in your ears. You easily got lost in the rise and fall of your bodies, the give and take, the heavy push and pull of Chris’ cock, the blast of hot breath on your neck and mouth, all of it tightening the coil in your belly.

Chris’ thrusts were growing sloppy and his cock started to swell. He pressed his thumb to your clit and worked it in tight, hurried circles, catapulting you off the edge. You came with a strangled cry, and black eating at the edge of your vision. Chris came two, three thrusts later, shoulders bowing, and cursing crudely. The two of you stayed there, gasping as aftershocks rolled through you, until finally, Chris had gone soft.

He kissed you languidly as he pulled out, biting your bottom lip just enough to make you hiss. You knew he was trying to take your mind off the way your swollen and leaking pussy tried to clamp onto him, prevent him from leaving, but it didn’t work. You whined, your nails scraping over his hips and thighs. You grabbed a paper towel, got it wet, and handed it over, doing the same for yourself, the two of you cleaning up and getting dressed in silence.

Chris shrugged his coat on and kissed you sweetly. “I have to go, but don’t think we are done talking about someone staying with you.”

You smirked up at him and sighed. “We’ll see about that, Chris.”

“Call you after I find out more about the alpha,” he promised, kissing you once more before he left. His truck had just pulled away from the house when there was a noticeable change in the air around you.

“Peter,” you groaned, tuning slowly to face the werewolf. You had almost,  _almost_ forgotten that he was there.

“The next time you plan on fucking someone, let me know so I don’t have to listen to every disgusting and human detail against my will,” he demanded, eyes flashing cerulean, hands balled into fists, veins in his neck pulsing hard and heavy.

You rolled your eyes and pulled your hair into a high knot. “Not like it was planned,” you snapped. “Besides, it’s not like you can just up and leave, remember?”

Peter’s nostrils flared and his face was pinched. “Jesus, you reek.”

“Grow up, Peter,” you mumbled, storming past him to go to the kitchen. “You’re acting like you’re jealous or something.”

Peter scoffed loudly as he followed you. “Am not.”

“Uh, yeah, you are,” you argued. “Question is, why?”

Rolling his eyes, Peter balled his hands into fists. “I’m not jealous, Y/N. I just don’t need to fucking smell… HIM.”

“Tough shit, Peter,” you yelled. “You came to me,  _begging_  for a place to stay. I don’t know  _why_  I agreed to it, but I did. I can just as easily kick you out.”

He narrowed his eyes, the cerulean slowly bleeding away. “You wouldn’t,” he gruffed.

“Fuckin’ try me,” you threatened, glaring at him darkly. “You have no fuckin’ say in who I do or do not fuck. You are nothing but a pain in my ass, a lame werewolf that went and got himself captured. So don’t go stomping around, pouting, and thinking you can make any kind of demands just because, in a moment of weakness, I let you into  _my_  home. You are here until we find out whatever wants you dead. Then, you’re fuckin’ gone. We clear?”

“Crystal,” he sneered.

* * *

Only after Y/N disappeared into her room, Peter stormed into his, slamming the door closed with a growl. He wanted to  _really_  let go and how until he was blue in the face, but since the alpha was supposedly back, he couldn’t risk it. Especially since he was at Y/N’s place. Who knew what would happen if the alpha found her and finished the job he started three years ago?

Peter could practice those fucking breathing techniques until he was blue in the face, but all he wanted to do was let loose, and tear apart the room with his claws… and his teeth.

He couldn’t believe it, Y/N had fucked Chris Argent. And now his scent was all over her, dripping down her thighs, Chris’ fucking bite marks on her neck and collar bones. Peter wanted to be the one to mark Y/N, to make her his. He had loved her this long, he could wait a little longer. Besides, her and Chris? They wouldn’t last. Not as long as he had anything to do about it.

All Peter had to do was come up with a plan.

* * *

Chris walked into the loft, nervously running a hand through his damp hair. He had taken a shower after leaving Y/N’s, washing three times, trying to get the smell of her off of him. Not that he wanted to, she was the complete opposite of him; gunpowder, leather, and the spice of his cologne. Hers was softer, more feminine, a scent he could get very used to wearing all the time. But he couldn’t think about that right now, not when there was an alpha on the loose, Peter was still in the wind, and whoever had tortured Peter still hadn’t been located. This was going to be a long… however the fuck long it took to get this all straightened out.

Derek was talking on the phone, muttering something Chris couldn’t quite understand. The two nodded at each other in greeting, Derek holding up his index finger, the universal signal for ‘almost done’. Chris dropped the duffel full of artillery, and started taking them out one by one.

“We all set?” Derek asked as he approached, his nostrils flaring when he caught a scent that didn’t belong.

Chris kept his eyes on the weapons. “Just about,” he answered, eyebrow twitching slightly, heart picking up speed.

Derek crossed his arms as he surveyed Chris, listened to his heart, and cleared his throat. “You and Y/N, huh?”

Swallowing heavily, Chris raised his gaze, and nodded. “It… it wasn’t planned or anything, Derek,” he assured his friend. “Took us both surprise.”

“Chris, it’s fine,” Derek explained. “Y/N and I talked yesterday, we’re fine.”

“You sure?” Chris wondered. “I don’t even know what it meant, we didn’t… talk about it.”

Derek came around the table and clapped Chris on the shoulder. “Everything is fine. Now, what do you say we go and get us an alpha?”

With a lopsided smirk, Chris chambered a round in his favorite pistol. “Let’s fuckin’ do this.”


	5. Chapter 5

Unable to do any kind of proper thinking, Peter put to use the sounds Y/N had made to use. He shimmied out of his clothes, sat down on the bed, and lost himself to the wet sounds of her pussy getting fucked good and hard. His blood flowed straight down to his cock, pushing fat beads of pre-cum from the tip as his cock swelled, harder than ever before .

Closing his eyes, Peter spat on his hand before gripping his cock, roughly grabbing his balls with the other, and fell to his back. He focused on Y/N, the way she had groaned and gasped, asking to be fucked harder and faster, the wet  _squelch_  of her pussy as she was pounded into, the way she keened as she came.

Peter pumped himself wildly, rolling and squeezing his balls, his grunts turning into growls and half-howls. He propped his feet on the edge of the bed and used it for leverage, driving his cock into his hand harder and harder, the edges of his claws scraping along his taint, until his cock swelled and pulsed, twitching heavily as he came all over his hand and thighs. He lay there, gasping for air, black spots eating at his vision, his body buzzing, fighting to keep the werewolf in him from bursting through.

Had Peter jerked off before? Hell yeah, especially when it had to do with Y/N. But never had anything like  _that_  happened. It was as if he had no control over himself, the scent of  _her_  after having sex, whether it was with Chris or not… but fuck, there was just something so goddamn appealing to him. What he really wanted to do was tear off Y/N’s clothes, push her onto the bed, and pound into her relentlessly.

Standing on slightly shaking legs, Peter cleaned himself up, and had just gotten dressed when there was a soft knock on the door.

* * *

You had been pacing in your room for a couple of hours, mind reeling from having sex with Chris, and then threatening to toss Peter out on his ass. First off, the sex completely blew your mind. A part of you had been wanting to do that since the first day you saw him, and then to actually have it happen… you briefly wondered if you were having a dream.

And then Peter came in, acting like a territorial, whining five year old that didn’t get… what? Didn’t get to play with the shiny toy? Did it hit too close to home when you said he was jealous? No. There was no fuckin’ way that Peter thought about you like that. He couldn’t, could he? You sure as hell didn’t feel that way about him, he was too damn full of himself, hungry for power, not caring who he hurt -or got killed- in the process.

Despite your… feelings for Peter, you’d be lying if you thought you handled things correctly. No matter how much it might hurt your ego, you needed to apologize. Hands driving through your hair, you let loose a shout of frustration.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you left your room, walked down the hall, and knocked on the door. You weren’t surprised when there wasn’t an answer.

“I… I shouldn’t have snapped at you, Peter,” you muttered, knowing damn well he could hear you. Part of you felt weird, like the words were foreign on your tongue, given who they were aimed at. “Believe it or not, I didn’t plan on…  _that_  happening with Chris.”

“But you wanted it to,” Peter challenged, voice rough and gritty.

With a heavy sigh, you nodded. “I did,” you agreed. “Before I even knew Derek, I had a crush on Chris.” There was a dull thud on the door, from his head, you guessed.

“Of course you did,” he breathed. Confusion washed through you at his words, but you didn’t let that distract you from the reason you were standing there in the first place.

“Can you open the door?” you pleaded softly, as if raising your voice would break whatever mood had fallen on you, on Peter, and he’d go back to his normal asshole attitude. Peter opened the door and looked at you with eyes that made your heart do this weird double catch in your chest. What the hell was  _that_  about?

When you didn’t say anything, Peter cleared his throat. “Yes, Y/N?”

“I wanted to apologize,” you rasped, shifting on your feet, and hiding your hands behind your back. You  _really_  hoped he hadn’t heard the double beating of your heart, but you sure as shit wouldn’t bet on it.

Cocking his eyebrow, Peter leaned against the door frame. “Never thought I’d live to see the day,” he mused, smirking down at you.

Your eyes raked over his neck and shoulders in an appreciative fashion.  _The fuck is wrong with you?_  you screamed at yourself. You didn’t know if it was your hormones raging after getting fucked, or what, but there was something about Peter that made electricity spark along your skin.

“Believe it or not, here I am,” you breathed, forcing yourself to take a step back.

Peter’s face became serious, bordering on concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Huh? Oh… yeah,” you stumbled over your own tongue, sputtering an answer that no doubt made you look like an idiot. You pulled in a deep breath, the air between you was thick with the smell of Peter; pine and dirt, heat and arousal.

“I uh… I’m gonna run into town, get some food. You want anything?” There was a darkness that flashed in his eyes, making your eyes roll back slightly and desire settle warmly between your legs.

Peter ran a thumb over his bottom lip before answering. “I’ll eat whatever you decide.”

And with that, you blushed furiously, turned on your heel, grabbed the keys, and ran out of the house.

* * *

Chris never did call you that night. Or the next. Or even the next. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for him to go radio silent, especially given the information about the alpha. On day five of Chris’ absence, Scott filled you in on the details that he knew.

“He and Derek went to Vermont,” he explained, nostrils flaring as he undoubtedly smelled Peter on your clothes. “Said the alpha had slaughtered some omegas.”

You shuddered at the thought. Omegas were the ‘runts of the litter’, having no real job in a pack, other than being the alpha’s bitch. “Why would he do that?”

Scott shrugged. “Hopefully they’ll find out.”

That had been three days ago. It wasn’t that you weren’t worried about the two men, you were, but one was a werewolf, the other had been hunting for most of his life. You had no doubt they could handle themselves and whatever came at them.

During that week, it was as if you and Peter did a complete 180, the two of you had actually gotten along. It was weird, having Peter acting so differently around you, toward you; he was truly being nice. He would help prepare dinner, clean up after, make a pot of coffee, doctoring it up the way that only you liked. It was as if he were an entirely different… werewolf. There were still times you wanted to punch him, but the reasoning behind it was different; playful and fun instead of because you were angry at him. Peter would laugh at your lame ass jokes, and you returned the favor, rolling your eyes at times because they were so bad.

It had even gotten to the point where you would drape your legs over his thighs as you each read, the evening breeze blowing through the windows. There were times that you caught Peter staring at you, bottom lip rolling between his teeth. Most of the time, you ignored it, the weight of his gaze, the way your stomach felt like it was trapped in the spin cycle, how heat would spread low in your gut and between your legs, racing through you as if it were trying to consume you.

But at that moment, you couldn’t stop from lifting your gaze and meeting his. You sucked in a ragged breath at the intensity there, how dilated his pupils were, the vein in his neck pulsing fast and heavy, and if you tipped your head just right, you’d swear you could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Which, that couldn’t happen, right?

You wanted to ask him what the hell was happening between the two of you, but you never got the chance. In the next second, everything about Peter’s demeanor changed. He stood with a growl, claws snapping out, fangs flashing in the swirling colors of the setting sun.

The icy tendrils of fear slithered along your spine. “What is it?” you breathed, eyes scanning anything and everything.

Peter pulled in a deep breath, eyes flashing cerulean, a growl rumbling in his chest. “She’s here,” he snarled.

“Who?” you asked thickly, hands shaking as you started easing yourself toward Peter.

He sneered, exposing his sharp teeth. “Kate,” was his answer.

You grabbed his hand and pulled. “Come on,” you urged, tugging harder since he was rooted to the floor. “I have someplace we can hide.”

Peter looked at you, assessing the situation, calculating the odds in his head. He must have realized it was the only option at that moment, because he nodded. You pulled on his hand, tugging him through the house, and down into the basement, where there was a small panic room type hiding place. It wasn’t anything that would survive a nuclear holocaust, but maybe it would help keep you hidden from Kate Argent.

There was one problem with the space, it only had room for one person, maybe two, if one of them wasn’t built like Peter Hale.

You stood toe-to-toe with Peter, your hands balled into fists at your sides, breasts heaving as you struggled to get your breathing under control. Peter had thrown the lock just as glass shattered above, followed very closely by combat boots as they strolled slowly, purposely through your house. You swallowed the panic rising in your throat, and looked up at Peter, immediately drowning in his eyes.

“Breathe, little one,” Peter murmured almost silently, his hand working your fingers apart, spreading them wide, and lacing them with his, his wide thumb sweeping back and forth. The air between you was hazy, thick with desire that was so sudden, it threatened to choke you.

“I know you’re here, Peter,” Kate taunted from upstairs, the heels of her boots dragging across the floor with each step she took. “And I’m going to find you.”

Her words weren’t the only reason goosebumps dotted your skin. The mix of fear and arousal was so intoxicating, you found yourself inching back toward the wall as the werewolf in front of you moved closer into your airspace.

Peter rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and reached up to tuck some hair behind your ear, blunt nail scraping along your earlobe and jaw. He towered over you, staring at you, smirking when you gasped, your back hitting the wall, your hand flying up to his side, gripping the black v-neck shirt in your fingers.

“And when I find you,” Kate continued her heckling. “I’m going to pick up right where I left off.”

You wanted to ask what Peter what Kate meant, but you were too focused on the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way his thigh had settled between yours, how his hips had pinned your body to the wall. Ripping Peter’s clothes off and letting him ravage you should have been the last thing on your mind, so when you pushed up to your toes, ghosting your lips over his, you realized that in some twisted way, you were head over heels for Peter Hale.

Peter’s mouth fell open and a breathy moan of your name tumbled out. He was struggling to keep himself in check, you could see the struggle in his eyes, eyes that were flickering between werewolf beta and the piercing blue his orbs were on a day-to-day basis. Right then and there was definitely not the time to explore… whatever was happening between you two, but he was teetering on the edge of keeping it together, not letting himself fall over.

Squeezing his hand, you raised your other hand and draped it over the back of his neck, nails scraping through the long hairs. You murmured his name, just loud enough for him to hear, and covered his mouth with yours.

The last of Peter’s resolve snapped, and he tipped his head, forcing his tongue between your lips. Your back came off the wall and you moaned into his mouth. Tugging on his hair, you elicited a growl from the werewolf that sent a dark desire flooding through you. You’d never wanted anyone this badly, not Derek, and sure as hell not Chris Argent. This was different and dangerous, the pure rawness of it; you never wanted it to end.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Kate sang darkly as she descended the stairs.

Your tongue caught on one of Peter’s fangs, drawing blood, but that didn’t deter you from exploring his mouth further. You rolled your hips against him, the thick outline of his cock growing harder against your stomach. Something in the back of your mind was trying to warn you, tell you that you should be focusing on the rogue hunter inside your home. But you ignored it, until it was too late.

The door exploded in, showering the two of you with splinters of wood. Peter covered your body with his, spinning around once he knew you weren’t hurt. He growled low and menacing, glaring at Kate with every ounce of hate he had in him. With your hands on his back, clutching his shirt, you peeked around him, and looked at the woman you had become close with while Chris trained you.

“Y/N,” Kate greeted with fake sincerity. “You look… good.”

You sneered at her. “Wish I could say the same.”

Narrowing her eyes, Kate glared at Peter. “Are you going to come with me willingly?” she had the nerve to ask.

Peter rotated his neck, sending a  _pop-pop-pop_  of bone and tendon throughout the small space. When he looked at Kate, his fangs and claws were bared, and a growl tore out of him.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Kate chuckled, electricity sparking to life on the baton she wielded.

Peter, still growling, charged without a second thought. Kate swung the electrified baton, narrowly missing her target. She gave a screech of dissatisfaction, giving Peter a small window of opportunity, which he took. He barreled into her, driving his shoulder into her stomach, slamming her into the brick wall.

“Go, Y/N,” he ordered as he punched Kate in the side. “Run!”

You were just about to do as he said when Kate somehow got the upper hand, the baton landing in Peter’s stomach. His whole body convulsed, teeth clamped, claws slicing into his palms, eyes rolling back in his head. He crumpled to the floor with a resounding  _thwack_.

Kate blew out a breath and raked a hand through her hair. “I’ll take it easy on you,” she promised, the baton sparking as she cut the power. “Won’t even feel a thing.” By the time you realized what she meant, it was too late.

The pin-prick of a tranquilizer dart in your chest made you hiss and wince. You pulled it out, rolled it between your fingers as the serum worked through your bloodstream. It was strong, too strong, strong enough to take down a werewolf. It wasn’t meant for a human.

You fell to your knees, then tipped over, the side of your head bouncing on the concrete like a basketball. Everything was fuzzy, out of focus, nauseatingly so. Everything except Peter’s blue eyes. You tried focusing on them, but it was no use. The darkness was too strong, overpowering you quickly, and swallowing you whole.


	6. Chapter 6

Beaten and bloodied, Chris and Derek drove back to Beacon Hills empty handed. Their search for the alpha provided no answers as to who the alpha was and where he could be found. All that greeted them was a pack of grieving, pissed off, and vengeful werewolves. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. They also didn’t understand how a hunter and a werewolf could work together, especially a Hale and an Argent. Both their names meant something to the supernatural world, and they sure as hell didn’t belong together.

Scott and Stiles were waiting for the duo at Derek’s loft, Stiles pacing back and forth, hand diving through his hair, other hand moving spastically through the air as he listened to Scott’s, “hair-brained idea.”

Derek half-carried Chris into the room, exhaling loudly through his nose, dried blood covering the right side of his face. “Med kit,” he groaned, dropping Chris onto his bed. Scott tore off to find the kit while Stiles literally screeched to a stop next to the bed.

“What happened?” Stiles demanded, trying not to focus on the blood oozing from the wounds Chris bore.

“Apparently, we offended them,” Derek groaned, leaning heavily against the wall. Scott raced back and unceremoniously ripped Chris’ shirt open, revealing several long gashes, and one gaping bite mark.

The two friends shared a look before Derek said, “It wasn’t an alpha.”

“Thank God,” Stiles breathed, head falling back and hands covering his face.

“What about you?” Scott demanded while he made quick work of cleaning and stitching Chris’ wounds.

Derek hissed in pain, a pinched look on his face. “I’m ok.”

Stiles scoffed and rolled his eyes. “That,” he snarked, pointing at the fact that his shirt was more blood than cotton, “doesn’t look like it.”

“That,” Derek ground out between his teeth, lifting his shirt to show his battle wounds, “was so he didn’t get bitten. I can heal from it, he can’t.” Stiles stumbled back, mumbling under his breath.

“Damn it, Stiles,” Scott gruffed in irritation.

Derek’s features contorted in confusion. “What about Peter?”

Scott glared at Stiles before facing his friend. “While you were gone, Y/N came to me, asking if I had heard from you or Chris.”

One shoulder raised stiffly. “So?”

Scott licked his lips before answering. “She was covered in Peter’s scent.”

Derek’s eyes flashed in anger. “What do you mean?”

“I followed her home,” Scott admitted gently. “Peter’s been staying at her place.”

The beta shook his head, his teeth grinding loudly. “No,” he snarled. “She wouldn’t.”

“I saw it, Derek,” Scott pushed.

“What else did you see?” Chris rasped, his eyes fluttering open slowly. Three sets of eyes landed on the severely injured hunter as he shifted on the bed, sitting up as much as he could.

Scott swallowed thickly before answering. “They uh, they were… comfortable with one another. Cooking together, laughing… sitting on the couch, her legs over-”

“That’s enough,” Chris exploded. He couldn’t believe it, Y/N had lied to him, to his fucking face about not knowing where Peter was. Not only that, but Peter was there, in the house, while Chris and Y/N were having sex in the kitchen.

“She lied from the beginning,” Chris sighed, head hanging low. “She didn’t want to help us find Peter, she wanted to find out who was hunting Peter. I don’t fuckin’ believe it.”

Stiles raised his hand as if he were in a classroom. “That’s not all.”

Derek leveled the spastic teenager with a dark glare. “Explain,” he demanded.

“I tried calling you,” Scott prefaced quickly. “Someone broke into Y/N’s house last night. Her and Peter are gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Chris snapped, standing slowly, working hard to ignore the pain that made his knees shake.

“They were taken, Chris,” Stiles explained. “By Kate.”

* * *

_Tonight was the night, Kate was finally going to rid Beacon Hills of that asshole, Peter Hale. She couldn’t wait to slit his throat, watch the light fade from his alpha red eyes. Just the thought of it made her giddy, like when she was a kid and daddy was teaching her to use a bow and arrow, praising her when she shot the arrow into the middle of the target.  
_

_Kate stalked through the woods silently, following the trail of broken twigs Peter had left behind in his hurried attempt to lose the hunter._

_“Getting sloppy there, Peter,” she chastised him._

_The hair on the back of her neck stood at the thunderous howl of the alpha, sending her blood racing through her. She tore off toward the source, eager to feel his hot blood on her skin. Kate was just about to burst through the foliage when she watched her brother flying through air, landing at the base of a tree with a soul-shattering **crack**._

_“Shit,” she sneered. As much as she wanted to gut Peter like a fucking fish, family prevailed; even when there was nothing but hate between the two of them. Kate sheathed the knife and crept over to an unconscious and bleeding Chris, looking up when the unmistakable sound of flesh being sliced into ripped through the air._

_Y/N fell to the ground, eyes wide in surprise and terror, blood gushing from her stomach. Making up her mind on who she was going to save, Kate squared her shoulders, and focused on getting her brother off the ground. Even if she could have saved them both, Y/N was losing too much blood; she would be dead in less than two minutes. She needed to get Chris to the hospital, then she would start hunting Peter all over again._

“That wasn’t me,” Peter ground out after being electrocuted.

“Liar,” Kate raged, cranking the machine as high as it would go. Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head and his back came off the chain link fence at his back. “I saw you,” she insisted, eyes wide with what Peter could only describe as unbridled insanity.

Blood was oozing from Peter’s ears and he could smell his own burning flesh. “I… I didn’t… I saved her,” he insisted, voice gritty and broken. With a primal scream, Kate electrocuted Peter again, smiling wickedly when it took the werewolf longer to recover.

“Why would you do that?” Kate inquired, head tilted to the side. “It goes against everything you are.”

“Y/N is a good person,” Peter choked out.

Kate’s eyes narrowed for a heartbeat, unsure of what she was hearing. “You’re telling me that you, a fucking werewolf, think that she, a hunter, is a good person.” She raised her hand to Y/N, unconscious and hanging on the chain link fence next to Peter.

He knew he had already said too much, almost admitted his true feelings for the woman at his side. Pushing through the pain, Peter’s eyes flashed beta blue. “See? I’m not an alpha. I wasn’t that night, hadn’t been for a year before that.”

“You only saved her because you had turned her, Peter.” Rolling her eyes, Kate waved him off with her hand. She strode over to Y/N, and slapped her.

* * *

“How do you know it was Kate?” Chris demanded as he limped toward Scott.

Scott looked at Chris dubiously. “I’m a werewolf, Chris,” he stated.

The hunter shook his head. “Kate might be a bit-”

“Crazy,” Scott, Stiles, and Derek interrupted at the same time.

Crystal eyes blazing in anger and confusion bored into Scott’s forehead. “But she would never-”

Derek’s hand on Chris’ chest stopped the hunter in his tracks. “Do I need to remind you of all the asinine shit she’s done before any of this?”

Chris’ mouth pulled into a tight line, turning white from the mixture of stress and disbelief. He knew his sister, knew she was different than most, but to do something as extreme as what Scott had said? Derek’s eyes bore into Chris’, and in them he realized that yes, Kate was completely insane.

“Were you able to follow their scent?” he asked Scott.

The teenager shook his head. “I lost them after an hour north.”

“I know where she took them,” Chris admitted sadly. “Gerard had a place where he liked to… experiment.”

* * *

There were tortured screams and the unmistakable sound of electricity crackling through the air that bled through the darkness. You struggled, or tried to, but you couldn’t move, and not just because of the metallic bonds at your wrists. Every muscle in your body was still flaccid, incapable of movement of any kind. That was until Kate slapped you.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she taunted, sounding more like a kid than a grown ass woman.

Pain exploded behind your eyes as you opened them, pulling a gravelly shout from your throat. Your hands flexed, the shackles clanking loudly, ringing in your ears.

“Breathe,” Peter urged. You hadn’t even been aware you were holding your breath. “I’m right here.” You found his eyes quickly, choking on a sob at the agony you found.

“What’s happening?” you implored, completely ignoring your old friend.

Before Peter could answer, Kate flipped the switch, sending thousands of volts of electricity pumping through Peter. It was the most painful thing you’d ever seen someone go through. Tears blurred your vision and you pulled on tour restraints.

You screamed at Kate, begging her to, “Stop! You’re going to kill him.”

“That’s the endgame, sweetheart,” she purred, dragging her nails along your neck once she was standing in front of you.

“Why?” you sobbed, flinching under her touch.

With a brow arched, Kate stared coldly at you. “He’s a werewolf, for starters. That alone deserves death.” Peter stirred, a low, pain-laced moan building in his chest.

“There are more dangerous werewolves out there,” you argued, voice cracking under the weight of emotion in your throat.

Kate scoffed loudly in disbelief. “More dangerous than Peter Hale. You’re kidding me, right?” She pulled a knife from the small of her back, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and sliced through the thin cotton with ease, exposing the lines of scars on your belly.

“You’re defending the werewolf that did this to you?” Kate demanded, scraping the side of the blade over your wounds.

You looked over at Peter, who was shaking his head, a mixture of saliva and blood spilling from his mouth. “But, Peter didn’t do this,” you argued, turning your gaze to Kate.

“I watched him do it,” Kate insisted, voice dangerously low, sending a wave of fear through you.

“No,” you snapped, tired of her scare tactics. “It wasn’t him!”

“Where did he bite you?” she inquired, using the knife to cut the shirt to shreds, sending it to the floor in ribbons.  

“Stop,” Peter breathed, bubbles of blood settling into the corners of his mouth. “I… I didn’t  _do_  this.”

You tugged on your restraints again. “I wasn’t bitten,” you promised, praying that she believed you.

“If he didn’t bite you, how did you survive? You were almost gutted, Y/N,” Kate lectured, slim fingers gliding down your sides before she grabbed your yoga pants, and ripped them away as she had with your shirt.

Shaking your head, you struggled to keep the to keep the fear that was bubbling your stomach from ripping you apart at the seams. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “I woke up at the hospital three days later.”

“Bullshit,” she sneered. “You’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is. Even if it kills you.” 

Kate turned the knife over, pressing the point of the serrated blade into the spot just below your sternum. Peter growled low in his throat and yanked as hard as he could on his restraints. Kate turned to the werewolf and smirked, sending him a wink as she gripped the handle tight, and pressed it slowly into your stomach, the wet  _squelch_  of your skin being cut into the last thing you heard before you screamed.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re in no shape to go,” Derek growled, glaring at Chris with cerulean eyes.

“Could say the same for you,” Chris argued, refusing to back down.

Scott gave a warning growl, low in his throat, rumbling through the room. “Enough arguing,” the teenager demanded. “We’re all going, and that’s final.”

“That’s right,” Stiles agreed before realizing what his best friend said. “Wait, what? I don’t… I don’t need to be there.”

Rolling his eyes, Scott assured his friend, “You can stay in the car.”

“I… I don’t see why I have to go,” Stiles countered, arms folded over his chest, glaring at Scott.

“Would you two shut up,” Chris snapped, huffing out a loud breath. “Shouldn’t take us long to get there. But we have to leave now. If you’re not going to help, leave your ass here”

* * *

Assuming they would need more room that Stiles’ jeep allowed, the group piled into Chris’ sleek, black SUV. For over half the drive, the car ride was silent, tension hanging thick in the air. Chris gripped the wheel as if it it were someone’s neck. He still hadn’t decided who he was more pissed off at; Y/N or Peter.

On the one hand, Y/N lied right to his face about Peter. If she had told him from the beginning, maybe they wouldn’t be racing to make sure Kate hadn’t killed them both. On the other hand, Peter fucking Hale. He had no right going to her when he was in danger. He did this. He  _willingly_  brought Y/N into this. She had been done, out of the life since  _that night_. Not that Chris blamed her. There had been many times where Chris wanted to call it quits, too many close calls that he almost didn’t come home from.

“Hey,” Derek muttered. “You alright?”

Chris ground his jaw before answering. “I keep asking myself why. Why would Y/N not have come to us?”

Derek groaned as his body struggled to heal itself. “What would you have done? Answer it honestly.”

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, Chris glanced at Derek. Chris wanted to say exactly what he should have done, what Y/N should have one, but that wasn’t what he said. “I probably would have done the same thing,” he conceded wearily.

“And as much as I hate to admit it,” Derek sighed, pushing his head back into the cushion. “So would I. But that’s not really what’s pissing you off.”

Chris’ grip tightened, his knuckles turning white, sending a stench of anxiety and rage flowing through the vehicle. “Not completely,” he grit out.

“Because Peter was there when you and Y/N had sex.”

Chris’ eyes flicked to the mirror that held Scott and Stiles’ gaping mouths. “And because of how I  _feel_  about her.” Derek nodded in agreement, understanding exactly what Chris was saying.

After Y/N kicked him out of her hospital room and out of her life, Derek was angry; dangerously so. He disappeared for almost a year, losing himself completely, letting the werewolf out more often than not. It got to the point that Chris came and dragged him home, kicking and howling. Although, some part of him wanted to go back, if he hadn’t, he  _really_  could have gotten away from the aging hunter.

Then Braeden came into his life, dark and dangerous, able to put up with all of Derek’s baggage, and it was like someone flipped a switch. Did he still love and care for Y/N? Abso-fucking-lutely. But that didn’t mean he was going to spend the rest of his days pining for her, wishing that he could have just one more shot, slip the ring on her finger one more time.

As much as he cared for Braeden, Derek struggled to keep from feeling guilty, his brain churned with  _what ifs_. What if he had stayed, showed Y/N that he loved her despite the glaring reminder of her humanity? She could deny it all she wanted, and as vain as it sounded, that was why she broke off their engagement; she didn’t want to her fragile humanity at the forefront of everyone’s minds, Derek’s included.

“Do you love her?” Derek asked softly, watching Chris’ reaction carefully.

“I care for her,” was Chris’ just as soft answer.

“Of course you do. You were her mentor for years,” Derek confirmed, turning in his seat. “But that’s not what I asked.”

If Chris ground his jaw any harder, he’d chip his damn teeth. “I’m too fucking pissed to answer that right now.”

Derek chuckled low in appreciation for Chris’ honesty. “Just remember, Kate is the enemy here, not Y/N, not Peter.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Just… don’t kill her,” he commanded. “Unless you have to.”

* * *

Blood spilled from your mouth as your head fell forward, and every inch of you burned in agony and defeat. Every time Kate stabbed you, you wished the blade would nick an artery. With every flip of the switch, you prayed for the volts of electricity to stop your heart. You didn’t want to be alive anymore.

Peter was spitting threats at Kate, vowing that he would rip her throat out, “With my fucking teeth, you bitch.” Of course, none of it had any effect on the rogue hunter. Her lips would pull into a wicked smile and there was an evil glint in her eyes.

“I’ll stop, I promise I will,” she purred, standing just out of reach of Peter’s snapping jaw. “When you tell me the truth.”

“We have,” you gargled, the blood thick in your throat and mouth. “Peter didn’t bite me. No one bit me,” you insisted, vision starting to blur from the blood and sweat that was rolling down your forehead.

“Then how did you survive?” Kate repeated herself, flipping the blade in the air, expertly catching it in the palm of her hand.

With a low groan, you answered, “I don’t know.”

“It was me,” Peter sighed. “I  _was_  there that night. I just… I didn’t hurt her!”

Peter was a complicated man, one that didn’t show his true self, no matter the cost. Some called him greedy, said all he wanted was power. While some of that was true, most of it wasn’t, so he built a wall, created a persona, just to keep others from seeing as weak. They always go after the weak ones first.

Lifting your head, you looked at Peter. “That was you?”

When he nodded, Kate rolled her eyes in response. She didn’t believe anything either of you had said, she certainly didn’t believe Peter’s admission.

Understandably, you were confused, barely able to ask, “Why?”

Over the last couple of weeks, you had gotten familiar with the way Peter would look at you, the dark and playful twinkle in his eyes, but the way he looked at you then rocked you to your core, stealing the small amount of air in your lungs. Peter swallowed thickly, the breath catching in his throat, fingers gripping his shackles painfully.

Kate spun around on her heel and watched the silent interaction, groaning when she realized what was happening. “Oh my, God,” she shrieked. “You love her!”

Your chin quaked as tears pricked your eyes. “Is… is it true?”

“Of course it’s true,” Kate teased. “Can’t you see it in his big, baby blue eyes?”

Ignoring Kate, you focused on Peter, using every fiber in your being to push down the pain you felt. “Tell me,” you pleaded, voice shattering completely.

Peter hesitated, but only because he needed to clear the emotion from his voice. “I love you, Y/N,” he breathed. “Always have.”

That was when it hit you; you were in love with Peter. You didn’t know when or how it happened, but it did, and it was the best fucking feeling in the world.

“I love you,” you admitted, tears in your eyes, every inch of you wanting to be wrapped in his arms, to feel the solid comfort of him surrounding you, heart beating steadily against you.

“Well, if that isn’t the sweetest thing ever.” Kate’s voice dripped with sarcasm, her eyes rolling back.

Grinding your teeth, you turned a dark gaze to Kate. “We have answered your questions,” you spat, droplets of blood flying through the air. “Let. Us. Go.”

Kate let loose a laugh that was beyond dark and scary. “I lied,” she admitted, voice cold and calculating. “You look surprised.”

Peter was astoundingly calm when he asked, “What more do you want from us?”

“The alpha,” Kate insisted. “If what you said was true, and you didn’t gut Y/N, then who did?”

Peter shook his head and gnawed on his bottom lip. “You’re not ready for this,” he warned.

“Try me,” Kate sneered, knife in hand as she stalked closer to the werewolf. You could tell that whatever Peter was going to say would push Kate past the point of no return. Granted, she was already certifiable, but there was a fine line between being homicidal and a psychopath. There could only be one person to make that happen.

“Oh, shit,” you gasped before you could stop yourself.

Kate spun to face you, eyes wide and searching yours. “Tell me!”

“Y/N, don’t,” Peter insisted, the muscles in his jaw ticking with the effort it took to stay calm.

In the blink of an eye, Kate had the blade pressed to your throat, and a hand tangled in your matted hair. “You will tell me who it is or I will kill you right here,” she snarled.

The clanking of Peter’s chains and his demands that Kate needed to release you immediately faded away. All that remained was you, Kate, and the blood-tacky blade against your neck.

“Use your head, Kate,” you gasped, head pulled back to expose your neck. “Who hates the Hales more than you?”

Kate’s brows knit together as her mind raced. You could see the exact moment it clicked, when the answer revealed itself in the gray matter. She struggled with the revelation, eyes flicking back and forth, mouth opening and closing like a fish washed up on the shore. The blade against your neck started to shake, and the grip in your hair loosened just enough for the muscles to relax the tiniest bit.

“No. You… you’re lying,” she sputtered. “He wouldn’t…” her voice trailed off and her hand fell from your hair. “Not daddy.”

You didn’t have a lot of time to, so you needed to act fast. Pulling in a deep breath, you pushed your head into the fence as far as it would go. It was going to hurt like a mother fucker, but at that point, who cared? When Kate looked back up, you brought your head forward, ramming your forehead into her nose. The bone crunched loudly and blood gushed from her face, through the fingers she raised, and down the front of her shirt.

It felt like someone drove a railroad spike through your head. Nausea rolled through you and your vision went black. The ground beneath you shifted and if Peter hadn’t been yelling your name, you probably would have let go, lost yourself to the darkness that felt so warm and inviting.

“Stay with me, little one,” Peter urged, his voice a higher pitch than normal.

“You crazy bitch,” Kate snarled, blood catching on her lips and tongue.

Somehow, you opened your eyes, hissing at the invasion of the dim light. “Takes one to know one.”

Despite her broken nose, Kate laughed maniacally as she strode over to the table and flicked the switch. The lights dimmed as electricity surged through you and Peter.  

Something was wrong, it felt nothing like the other times. It felt… heavy and sudden and… final. As much as hearing Peter’s admission of love made you want to fight, to do everything in your power to get out and survive, at that moment, you wanted nothing more than to have the pain stop. With one final inhale, you let yourself go.

The last thing you heard was Peter’s desperate howl.

* * *

Peter roared when Y/N passed out, her body at the mercy of the electricity pumping through her. If it was the last thing he did, Peter would rip Kate Argent open like a fucking pinata. What he needed to do was get out of these fucking restraints first. But something else entirely happened.

The door flew open, and in ran his looking-worse-for-the-wear nephew, claws and fangs exposed, eyes beta blue. At his back was Chris, weilding a desert eagle, and a look that could kill. Scott and Stiles surged in a moment later, Scott at Derek’s side, and Stiles tripping over himself to flip the switch into the off position.

“I was wondering when you were going to join the party,” Kate sneered through blood-soaked lips.

“Where are the keys?” Chris demanded, sights set on the last person he thought he’d ever raise a gun to.

Kate shrugged one shoulder. “Must’a lost ‘em.”

Peter yanked on his chains. “Quit the fuckin’ chit-chat,” he barked. “Get Y/N down. She… she’s not breathing.” Four sets of eyes flew to Y/N, and that’s when Kate ran out the back door. Chris pulled the trigger, but the bullet landed in the door frame instead of his sister’s shoulder.

With a shudder-inducing growl, Scott pulled at the chains, tearing them out of the concrete wall. Y/N would have fallen if Stiles hadn’t been there. He might have only been 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones, but Stiles had no problem easing Y/N to the floor.

Peter was on his knees in less than a blink of an eye, his hands shaking as he grabbed her hand and pushed the hair from her face. “Wake up, little one,” he pleaded, voice shattering, breath hitching in his throat. The other four exchanged various looks of complete confusion at the un-Peter-like behavior.

“Don’t just fucking stand there,” the grieving and desperate werewolf snapped. “Do something!”

“What do you want us to do,” Scott asked, voice rough.

Derek rested a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, his eyes filling with tears. “I can’t hear her heartbeat,” he choked.

Peter dropped his head to Y/N’s chest and held his breath as he listened. “There,” he exhaled, his head popping up. “I heard it.” One hand atop the other, Peter started CPR compressions, not pushing too hard so she didn’t suffer any broken bones.

“She’s gone, Peter,” Chris murmured, head hanging low.

“No she’s not,” Peter snarled, determination glowing in his eyes.

Scott dropped to his knees and tipped Y/N’s head back, doing everything he was taught in health class to perform successful CPR. He pinched her nose at Peter’s signal, and blew into her mouth; repeating the process every ten compressions.

With Derek’s hand still on his shoulder, Peter mumbled under his breath, “I need you to stay, Y/N. I won’t let you leave me.”

Scott’s hand flew out just as he went to fill Y/N’s lungs with oxygen one more time. “Wait,” he instructed softly. Chris and Stiles watched curiously as the three werewolves listened carefully.

Almost a minute later, Y/N pulled in a rattling breath.

“She needs a hospital,” Chris noted, his cellphone already in his hand.

“No.”

Chris glared at Peter. “What do you mean, no?”

Holding Y/N’s hand, fingers tangled with hers, Peter’s eyes flashed cerulean at the hunter. “Only Scott can save her.”

“What am I supposed to do, bite her?” Scott scoffed.

Peter fixed his gaze on the teenager. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Scott pushed off the ground at the same time that Derek dug his claws into Peter’s shoulder. “If this is your idea of some twisted joke…” Derek left the threat go unvoiced.

“I’m in love with her, Derek,” Peter admitted under his breath. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the exact same thing.”

Derek sighed heavily as he looked at Y/N. Despite the fact that her heart was beating -agonizingly slow- and she was breathing -wet and rattling- Derek could honestly say that he would be asking the same thing of Scott if he were in his uncle’s shoes.

“It’s up to you, kid,” Derek said, wet eyes landing on Scott.

“No, Scott,” Chris roared. “You are not turning Y/N into a werewolf.”

Scott took in the scene before him; Peter Hale, the egotistical asshole that bit him was now asking… no, Peter was begging Scott to save the woman he loved. He may have hated the guy’s guts, but if there had been a chance to save Allison, Scott would have been all over it.

“I’ll do it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON SAFE FOR NOW:
> 
> Holding Y/N’s hand, fingers tangled with hers, Peter’s eyes flashed cerulean at the hunter. “Only Scott can save her.”
> 
> “What am I supposed to do, bite her?” Scott scoffed.
> 
> Peter fixed his gaze on the teenager. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
> 
> Scott pushed off the ground at the same time that Derek dug his claws into Peter’s shoulder. “If this is your idea of some twisted joke…” Derek left the threat go unvoiced.
> 
> “I’m in love with her, Derek,” Peter admitted under his breath. “Tell me you wouldn’t do the exact same thing.”
> 
> Derek sighed heavily as he looked at Y/N. Despite the fact that her heart was beating -agonizingly slow- and she was breathing -wet and rattling- Derek could honestly say that he would be asking the same thing of Scott if he were in his uncle’s shoes.
> 
> “It’s up to you, kid,” Derek said, wet eyes landing on Scott.
> 
> “No, Scott,” Chris roared. “You are not turning Y/N into a werewolf.”
> 
> Scott took in the scene before him; Peter Hale, the egotistical asshole that bit him was now asking… no, Peter was begging Scott to save the woman he loved. He may have hated the guy’s guts, but if there had been a chance to save Allison, Scott would have been all over it.
> 
> “I’ll do it.”

Chris yanked Peter off the floor. “What about what she wants, huh? You _really_ thinks she wants to be a werewolf?”

Peter’s claws snapped out with an audible _click_. “She’s going to die, Chris,” the werewolf growled. “You want that? Cuz I sure don’t.”

As much as it pained him, losing Y/N, he had to put aside his feelings. “It’s not about what we want,” Chris yelled, pushing Peter’s shoulders.

Stiles jumped out of the way even though the werewolf didn’t budge an inch. “She wouldn’t want this, Peter.”

“The fuck do you know about what she would want?” Peter snarled, eyes flashing and drilling into Chris’.

Derek flanked Chris, eyeing his uncle carefully. “I know what she would want,” he acknowledged. “And it isn’t this.” Derek motioned to Scott, kneeling next to Y/N, holding her hand, willing to turn someone into a werewolf if it meant saving their life.

“What do I do?” Scott sighed, red swirling through chocolate irises.

“Nothing,” Chris and Derek answered at the same time Peter ordered Scott to, “bite her, damn it.”

Stiles, bless his heart, flanked the other side of Chris, hands balled at his sides. “It’s not happening.”

Y/N coughed, thick and wet, splattering blood on her already crimson chin. “Anyone gonna ask me what I want?” she asked, wetly gasping for breath between each word.

Peter dropped to his knees and grabbed her hands. “ Name it, I’ll do anything you want,” he admitted, not caring who heard him choke on the words.

How Y/N was still holding on was beyond everyone in the room. She should be dead, _had_ been dead mere minutes ago. Yet, there she lay, breathing and talking. Though, judging by the loud, wet rattle in her lungs, she wouldn’t be alive much longer.

With her free hand, Y/N gripped Scott’s hand as tight as she could. She tried smiling as she turned to see the true alpha. “I want… you… to bite… me,” she murmured, her breathing growing more labored.

“Are you sure?” Scott asked, thumb sweeping over the almost non-existent pulse in her wrist. “There’s no turning back from this.” 

Chris dropped to his knees, resting his hands on either side of her head. “Is this what you truly want, Y/N?”

Her chin quaked as she looked at her old mentor. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”

“No,” he answered quickly, the word thick in his throat. “I could never be disappointed in you.”

Derek hunkered down next to his uncle. “We’ll be here for you,” he swore.

“All the way?” she croaked, her eyes losing focus as they landed on Peter.

Peter pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “All the way.”

Scott saw the faintest of nods from Y/N before growling low in his throat. His eyes went scarlet as he raised her arm to his lips. With his own eyes clamped shut, Scott pushed his werewolf teeth into Y/N’s skin; spilling hot blood into his mouth.

* * *

Peter was pacing by Y/N’s bedside, had been ever since Scott bit her. That was three days ago. He tried to look at the upside; she wasn’t dead. The downside being, she wasn’t waking up. That freaked the hell out of everyone, but Peter was feeling something he hadn’t since Kate burned down their house; fear. Its icy tendrils slithered down Peter’s spine and twisted in his belly, churned his gut until he threw up, filling his mind with images and what if scenarios should Y/N not wake up.

Derek stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, shoulder against the frame. “How’s she doing?” he rasped, throat tight with unease. Nobody had gotten much sleep since carrying Y/N into her home.

“She’s still… sleeping,” Peter gruffed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair.

“When was the last time you slept?” Derek could hate his uncle as much as he wanted, but there was a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before.

Peter shrugged. “Probably the last time you did.”

“Touche’,” Derek chuckled. It died in his throat as his eyes fell to the bed. He tilted his head and listened. Y/N’s heart was beating erratically, which was more than likely how her body was coping with turning from human to werewolf. Her eyes kept swiping back and forth under closed lids, fingers twitching at her sides, and she’d emit a soft whine every so often. Everyone knew that Y/N was in pain, and Peter had been helping her, resting his hand atop hers, absorbing as much as he could without doing irreparable damage to either of them.

Peter was just about to go to her once again, but Derek shook his head. “You’ve done too much.” 

“I haven’t done enough,” Peter argued sternly.

Derek stood in front of his uncle. “You don’t have to prove anything to her or to us. We know you love her, _she_ knows you love her. Besides, if you take any more of her pain, it might kill you. If I can smell it on you, I know damn well you can. There’s no harm in taking a break.”

Sighing heavily, Peter nodded. He strolled over to Y/N, dropped a kiss to her forehead, and whispered something private, something Derek shouldn’t have overheard. Derek clapped Peter on the shoulder as he ambled by, headed for the bathroom to take a shower. Derek sat down next to the bed and grabbed her hand, focusing as he absorbed her pain.

It was like nothing Derek had ever felt, not even when Kate shot him with a wolfsbane bullet. It was as if there was a war raging inside Y/N, as if there was something already different about her that conflicted with Scott’s bite. He barely managed to trap the scream in his throat, but he couldn’t keep from falling to his knees. Chris ran in and pulled Derek’s hand away, the black, pulsing veins in Derek’s arm diminished quickly. 

Y/N moaned pitifully as she shifted on the bed. “I… I didn’t… didn’t take enough,” Derek gasped, struggling to stand.

Chris gripped the werewolf’s shoulders and put everything he had into keeping Derek seated. “Derek, stop. You look like death.” And it was true. Derek’s normally olive skin was pale and clammy, there were dark bags under his eyes, and he was shaking. “You can’t take anymore.”

“But… but she’s dying,” Derek argued, once again trying to stand.

“I don’t think she is,” Chris proposed. He helped Derek off the floor, and out into the living room, setting Derek onto the couch. Chris handed Derek a glass of water, waiting to delve further until the werewolf was done.

Derek placed the empty glass onto the table, draped his elbows on his thighs, and stared hard at his friend. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I found Gerard,” Chris admitted. “That’s where I’ve been the last few days.”

“Did you kill him?” Derek snarled, anger replacing the weakness throughout his body.

Chris chuckled before answering. “Sure as hell did, but not before he told me everything.”

“What’s everything?” Peter asked, fresh from the shower, wearing clean clothes, and running a towel through his hair.

“You might want to sit down for this,” Chris said.

* * *

_**THREE YEARS AGO** _

_Gerard’s plan had been perfect, and it was all going according to plan, until that goddamn McCall kid got involved. If he hadn’t interfered, Gerard’s body wouldn’t have rejected the bite from Derek. But that meddling **child** had to stick his nose where it didn’t belong; smelling the cancer, changing Gerard’s medication to mountain ash. Everything was Scott’s fault. _

_And then, one night, as he lay in the assisted living home, coughing up black goo, an old… friend showed up.  
_

_“Deucalion,” Gerard wheezed, black goo oozing from his nose._

_The werewolf closed and locked the door behind him, his walking cane tapping on the floor as he approached the bed. “Gerard,” Deucalion greeted softly. “I hear you’ve had it a bit rough as of late.”_

_“You could say that,” Gerard scoffed, triggering a series of violent coughs._

_Deucalion sneered at the thick, wet sounds echoed in the room. “What if I said I could help you.”_

_“I would ask what the catch was.”_

_“Can’t an old friend offer a helping hand?” Deucalion actually sounded hurt._

_Gerard rolled his eyes. “I know you’re track record, Deucalion. You don’t offer help unless there’s something in it for you.”_

_Deucalion sat there for a moment, eyebrow quirked, fingernails tapping the top of his cane. “Call it a quid pro quo. I help you with becoming a werewolf, and you help me get rid of a hunter.”_

_“Sounds a little too easy. There has to be something else. That’s just the way it is with you,” Gerard insisted, eyes narrowed, shifting uncomfortably._

_“Always one to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Deucalion chuckled. “I swear, on the life of your children and granddaughter; there are no strings attached.”_

_The aging hunter stared at the werewolf as his mind raced. He wanted so badly to be rid of the mountain ash mucus that choked him, that he was willing to sign a deal with the devil himself. Could it really be that simple, an I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine kind of deal? Gerard was more than ready to find out._

_“Who do you need me to kill?”_

_If possible, Deucalion grew more serious. He pulled off his dark-tinted sunglasses, and stared at Gerard with unseeing eyes. “My daughter; Y/N Y/L/N,” he snarled, the taste of her name bitter on his tongue._


	9. Chapter 9

“ _She’s_  Deucalion’s daughter?” Peter asked almost a minute later.

“That’s what the old man said,” Chris answered, raking a hand over his face. “I called Deaton, told him what was going on. He said he’d drop by after closing up shop.”

Peter sat there, shocked at the revelation that Y/N was Deucalion’s daughter. “I thought it was all a rumor, lore to scare the werewolf community even more. Deucalion, alpha of all alphas, had a daughter. It was said that she would be stronger than even her father, but so many years passed, we thought it had all been made up.”

“I knew there was something different about her,” Derek sighed, sinking into the couch.

“The only question is,” Chris murmured. “How different is she?”

Peter stared at the door that separated Y/N from them. “Unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”

* * *

The pain that overwhelmed your senses was like nothing you’d ever experienced; including the time that Gerard Argent attempted to kill you. Being the daughter of Deucalion meant being stronger than everyone else. So when Gerard’s claws ripped through your soft tissue and muscle, you weren’t completely surprised when you woke up to find out you had survived. You were worse for the wear, but you were alive, and you wanted to stay that way.

Which was why it was an easy decision to ask Scott to bite you, to make you like him, like the men you loved, like the man at your side, crying angrily, desperate for you to survive. You just hadn’t expected it to hurt so bad. It felt like a volcano erupted inside of you, spilling lava into your heart, each beat pulsing the liquid fire through your veins, moving excruciatingly slow.

You wanted to flail around, open your mouth so you could scream in agony, but between dying - again - and dragging yourself back to the land of the living - again - you had worn yourself down to practically nothing. All you could do was lie there and suffer as the venom from Scott’s bite healed you from the inside out.

* * *

Deaton dismissed the offer to have a seat. “How is she doing?”

“Not good,” Peter snapped.

“Easy, Peter,” Derek warned, pushing off the couch and staggering.

Chris prevented Derek from falling to the floor. “Where are you going?”

“I have to do something,” he insisted, eyes cold and determined.

Shaking his head, Chris helped Derek onto the couch. “What you have to do is rest.”

“How much did you take?” Deaton asked, dark eyes flicking between the two wolves.

“As much as I could,” was Derek’s answer.

Peter nodded in agreement. “I can take more.”

“It’s not a fucking contest,” Chris spat out, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“I agree, Chris,” Deaton murmured. “Besides, I think in taking Y/N’s pain, you might actually be slowing the healing process.”

Peter’s nostrils flared as he grit his teeth. “It’s taking too long.”

* * *

Every time you thought you were through the worst of it, about to push through and wake up, someone stoked the flames back to life. It burned hotter than before, like liquid napalm surged through you, pressing against the muscles that were taut with pain, turning them to nothing more than black ash. You were screaming, silently pleading with them to stop laying hands on you, but they couldn’t hear your cries.

It was Chris, Derek, and Peter, the three men taking turns at your bedside, urging you to come back, to just  _open your eyes_. God, how you tried. If only the werewolves would stop taking your pain.

* * *

It was Chris that gave voice to everyone’s fear. “What if she doesn’t wake up?”

“She will,” Peter grunted, exhaustion etched into every inch of him.

“And until she does,” Deaton started, leveling the three men with a stern glare. “You should get some rest. You’re barely standing on your own two feet.”

Chris heaved out a sigh and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Derek stood slowly, groaning as his body protested to the movement. “Chris, you mind dropping me off?”

“Sure thing,” he murmured, clapping Derek on the shoulder. “I assume you want to stay with Y/N.”

Peter nodded tiredly. “There’s no way I’m leaving.”

“You call us immediately,” Chris demanded, voice low and threatening.

There was a low chuckle that vibrated from the elder werewolf. “I’ll send out a smoke signal.”

Derek and Chris wanted to snap back about the seriousness of the situation, but Deaton shook his head. “Goodnight, Peter.”

After closing and locking the door, exhaustion slammed into Peter like a freight train. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and topple over, falling asleep before his knees hit the floor, but he couldn’t. Not yet, at least.

Peter drug his feet as he moved toward Y/N’s room, growing more and more tired with every step he took. He could feel it, the comforting darkness of unconsciousness. It was taking over, bleeding into the edges of his vision, limiting his thought process. He had just dropped onto the mattress when it became too much to bear.

* * *

For the first time in a long time, it was quiet. In fact, it was so quiet, you were completely unsettled. People think that too much noise is what makes people go crazy. They’re wrong. It’s the lack of noise. For you, at least.

It was deafening, the silence.

You opened your mouth and tried saying something… anything, really, but no sound came out. Giving in to the desperation that was eating at you, in to your frustration, you screamed and cried. You fell to your knees, then your hands slapped against the floor. Your chest was heaving as the air tore in and out of you.

This couldn’t be it. There was still so much you wanted to do, and then there was Peter. You had spent so much of your life hating the man, but in the blink of an eye, everything changed. And it wasn’t just you that had changed, he had done a complete one-eighty. You never,  _ever_  thought he would be the kind of man to, not only fall in love but, admit that he had these things called feelings. He just had to go and prove you wrong.

God, you were tired.

You dropped to your side and tucked your arm under your head, finding it oddly comfortable. Despite the deafening silence, the tension in each and every muscle started to relax, your eyes started to flutter closed, and before you knew what was happening, your entire body went limp and you were fast asleep.

* * *

You sat up, your back was ramrod straight,there was hair sticking to your sweat-dampened skin, and you pulled in a deep breath, that made your lungs rattle and ache. The remnants of a dream were dancing in your periphery, blowing away like cobwebs in the wind. The harder you tried to remember what you had been dreaming about, the faster the wind blew, and it was frustrating you.

Using your hands to shift on the bed, you noticed that you weren’t alone. Peter was there, passed out as if he had been partying all night. You couldn’t help but notice just how… peaceful he looked. There was dirt trapped in his pores, and you chuckled at the image of Peter catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, how horrified he would be.

You settled onto your side and smiled warmly when you remembered one of the last things he said before you died.

_I love you._

Who knew how much three words could change a person.

Peter shifted as you snuggled close, your nose brushing against his like a feather, your hand lifting to run through his dark hair. Your nails had just scraped over his scalp when his eyes flicked back and forth under closed lids. He woke slowly, each muscle stretching slowly, twitching beneath his skin in a way that made your heart catch. By the time he opened his eyes, he had an arm around you and he was pushing his head into your hand.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he all but purred, icy eyes boring into yours.

“I wasn’t sure you’d stick around.”

Peter pushed up to his elbow and looked at you, his head tipped to the side, disbelief heavy on his brow. “Why would you think that?”

With a brow arched, shrugged a shoulder. “You’re… you,” was all you said.

He shook his head. “Look, I know I don’t have the best track record with… anything, but I meant it when I said that I love you.”

“I know,” you mused, your eyes losing focus for a moment.

“Hey,” he breathed, hand coming to brush the hair behind your ear. “You alright?”

With a happy hum, you pushed up and caught his lips in a firm kiss. “I am now.”

Peter growled low in his throat as his eyes flashed. He smiled wickedly before closing the small gap between you, sucking your bottom lip between his and nipping at it. You echoed his growl and latched onto his shoulders, driving your fingers deep into his muscles. He was on top of you, settled deliciously between your thighs, kissing you as if his life depended on it. His hand had just disappeared under your shirt when the doorbell rang.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snarled.

You huffed in both frustration and amusement. God, he was adorable when he was pissed. You just had to be sure not to tell him that. Ever.

“We could ignore it,” you offered with a shift of your hips.

There was another knock, louder than the last, letting you know that whoever it was had absolutely no intention of leaving.

Peter sighed heavily and rolled away. “It’s Chris and Derek,” he ground out.

You pushed off the bed and adjusted your clothes. “Why don’t you hop in the shower and… relax,” you chuckled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Hopefully they won’t hang around for too long.”

When Peter exited the bathroom, it was evident that Chris and Derek had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Not that Peter minded too terribly, because once the front door closed and it was just the two of you again, he wasn’t going to let you out of his sight or out of the bed.


End file.
